


7 Days

by bamby0304



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-13 23:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bamby0304/pseuds/bamby0304
Summary: When you and Dean have a fight, some hurtful things are said. Unable to bear it any longer, you leave. For the next week, you try your best to move on, truly thinking it’s all over. But is it??





	7 Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sis_tafics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sis_tafics/gifts).



> This is for @sis-tafics’ ‘Jill’s Bday Pop Punk Challenge’. My prompt was 7 Days by The Summer Set. Honestly, I had to look up the majority of the songs because I’d never heard of them (or the artists), but the instant I heard the first line to this one, I needed it :P

**_Warnings_ ** **: Angst, explicit language, more angst, just a bit more angst… and then some fluff to finish it off :):)**

**Bamby**

**Day 1**

The motel door slammed behind Dean, steam practically fuming out of his ears. He was pissed… but so were you.

Sam, he wasn’t an idiot. The second the case was over, the instant he saw the two of you glaring at each other, he bolted. You had no idea where the younger Winchester had gone off to, but suddenly you wanted nothing more than to hide out with him. Fights with Dean weren’t what you’d call fun.

“If you’ve got something to say, then say it.” You tossed your jacket onto the bed. “I can’t read your mind, Dean.”

He scoffed, shaking his head as he moved to the small kitchen, pulling a beer out of the fridge. “You know what’s wrong, Y/N.”

Ah, yes, the passive aggressive use of first names. It was something you’d both done since the beginning of your friendship, long before you’d started dating. If either of you were upset with the other, the overuse of their name was an instant sign.

“No, I don’t, Dean.” You did. “Please, enlighten me.”

Back to you, one hand on the bench, gripping it white-knuckle tight as he downed his first beer in a matter of seconds, he said nothing. His whole body was tense, the heat of his anger vibrating off him, pushing at the tension that was bound to snap at any moment.

You weren’t going to be the one to break it though. It’s one of your downfalls. Your stubbornness was weak enough to let you get angry and bite at him, but strong enough to hold back and wait for him to explode first. It made him the bad guy. It added fuel to your fire. It made you feel like you had every right to feel the way you did. It gave you a reason to snap back.

Slamming the empty beer bottle onto the bench- with enough force to underline his anger, but not enough to break the glass- he waited a second or two longer before spinning on his heels to look at you.

His green eyes were ablaze. His jaw tense and ticking. Nostrils flaring. Hands fighting not to curl into fists. He was right there, on the edge… and you were right there, ready to push him over.

All it took was a harder glare and your arms lifting to fold over your chest, a sign of defiance and a reminder of your stubbornness… that had him tumbling.

“We had a plan, Y/N. We spent _hours_ working out that plan. _You_ came up with most of it. Sam was supposed to distract them. I was supposed to take the shot. You were supposed to keep watch. We had a fucking plan!”

“And I had a fucking opening!” you bit back. “You were taking too long, Sam was gonna get caught. I _had_ to do something, Dean.”

“So, throwing yourself into a fucking werewolf den is doing something? You really think that was smart, Y/N?”

“It was better than twiddling my thumbs.”

“What if there were more?”

“There weren’t, Dean.”

“But there could have been!” he yelled, voice so loud it was only a matter of moments before the motel staff started knocking on the door.

“But. There. Weren’t,” you repeated, voice rising as well. “We ganked them. End of story. Who cares about the details?”

“Me! I care! You could have fucking died!”

“I could die every day, Dean. We’re hunters. I am a hunter. It’s not like I’m a fucking teacher. I don’t sit behind a fucking desk all day. We’re always in danger, that’s just how it is. You should be used to it by now.”

“That’s not the problem, Y/N!” He shook his head, anger boiling to that point we’d both regret…

“What’s the fucking problem then?! What have I done, Dean? What, are you pissed I took the kill? Did I hurt your precious ego?”

“I couldn’t care less about the fucking kill! What pisses me off is the fact you don’t care. You’re always so fucking reckless! You jump in without thinking. We’re always cleaning up after you. You make me wanna tear my fucking hair out. I’m sick of it!”

You fell silent. Your anger faded like a fire being put out with a tsunami… the tsunami, in this case, being an ocean of hurt.

Dean turned away from you, the look on his face conveying just how done he really was.

He was sick of it. He was sick of you. _That’s_ the problem here.

After years of hunting side by side with the Winchesters, after being with Dean for almost just as long, he’d finally had enough. Dean was sick of you. Your boyfriend, the love of your life, the one person in the whole universe you trusted to no end… was sick of you.

“Fine.” The word came out cold, flat, hard. “You’re sick of it? Then I’ll get out of your hair.”

Spinning on your heels, you started for the door and without thinking… grabbed the keys to the Impala.

Having not been watching you, it took a few moments before Dean realised you’d taken the keys. When the roar of the engine coming to life filled the parking lot, that’s when he came running out of the room, his anger ten times worse now.

Keeping eye contact with him, you pulled out of the lot, wheels spinning, dust clouding behind you as you sped down the road, getting the hell out of there.

**Day 2**

You wanted to go to the bunker. Sitting in the diner, fiddling with a loose string hanging off the sleeve of your flannel, you knew you should go.

Part of it was because you were pretty sure you and Dean were over. You should go, take Baby back, grab all your things, and leave. Hopefully the guys wouldn’t be there, that way you could to it without any more drama.

The other part of you hoped they would be back. If they were, then you could apologise. You’d swear until your face turned blue, promising to never be so reckless ever again. You’d beg Dean to take you back, even after everything you said… even after you’d stolen his car.

But it didn’t matter what you wanted, you weren’t going anywhere near the bunker. You were too stubborn.

There was no doubt in your mind that people were worried. Sam would know everything by now. Even though Dean was pissed, he still would have called his brother… you had stolen the car, remember. Then they would have called every hunter they know, telling them to keep an eye out for you _and_ the Impala.

So, despite the fact you had no clothes, hardly any money, your phone had died and you’d left your charger at the motel… you weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t calling anyone for help. You were going to fall off the grid, at least for a while. You needed the time off, some space, a breather.

**Day 3**

The best thing about becoming homeless? You weren’t actually homeless.

For years you’d lived on the road. There’d been plenty of nights where you and the boys had slept in the Impala instead of getting a room at some motel. The fact you were now alone just meant you didn’t have to sleep squished next to Dean in the front seat.

Plus, you were an amazing at pool… and even better at hustling. One moment you barely had enough money to buy yourself a meal… the next moment your pockets were full. You had enough money to by yourself some clothes and food, and _still_ had plenty of change. You could have easily stayed at a motel… but you didn’t.

Your pain had turned to paranoia. You were sure if you stayed somewhere you’d be found. Someone would see the car and call the brothers. You couldn’t risk it. So, you stuck to sleeping on the uncomfortable leather seats in the Impala, parked in alleyways, behind buildings, on deserts roads, under the cover of trees and bushes.

The worst thing about becoming homeless? Your new home was a constant reminder of the life you left behind… and you man you still loved so deeply and painfully, despite the fact he’d ripped your heart out of your chest.

**Day 4**

Tears streamed down your face. Your face was red, body curled up in the back seat on the Impala as you hugged a blanket to your chest. A blanket you’d pulled out of the trunk. A blanket that smelt like Dean.

You were a mess. It had finally hit you. The fight, everything he said, the look in his eyes, the lonely days you’d spent without him since storming out. You had tried to push it as far back in the depths of your mind, but today it had decided to ignore your efforts and make itself known. All night his words had played over and over in your head.

He was sick of you.

How could he be sick of you? Were you really that annoying? Was it really that bad? When did it all go downhill? Why didn’t he say something earlier? Did Sam know? Were you the only one blind to the truth? Was it all out of pity? Had he just settled? Did he even love you?

After thinking about it all night, you realised you really were reckless. Your temper was horrible. You made fun of him all the time. You pretended to flirt with other people all the time. You were extremely stubborn. You were a horrible girlfriend.

You didn’t want to go back to the bunker anymore. You were sure you wouldn’t be welcome. You were sure both brothers would simply send you on your way- not before telling you off for taking Baby though. You were sure neither of them wanted to see you ever again.

You’d really screwed things up this time.

**Day 5**

After taking yesterday off to relax a little, to calm down from your emotional breakdown, the next day you were pissed. You were angry that you let yourself think all those horrible things about yourself. Even if some of them were true, this was not all your fault. Dean was as wrong as you were.

With your temper flaring, you were on a mission.

Your morning had been spent sitting in a diner, flicking through newspapers and online articles. You didn’t care what came up, you needed a case. Ghost, ghouls. Witches, werewolves. Dragons, demons. Whatever it was, you were ready to rip it to shreds.

By lunch time, you found a case. Something easy. Just a quick vampire case. In an out, nothing serious, no harm done.

At least that’s what you thought.

When the sun had set, the moon full and bright in the night sky, you’d set off. You were sure you knew where the vampires were holed up. You were sure it was just two. You were sure you could handle it by yourself.

You were wrong.

After killing the first one and starting on the second, a third jumped out. You’d been prepared for that one though, just in case- and to prove to yourself you weren’t as reckless as Dean said. But the fourth had been too much.

Sure, in the end you managed to gank all of them, but it didn’t come easy, and it didn’t come without some bloodshed.

That night, you had no choice but to get a motel room. You needed a shower, a proper bed to sleep in and a place to clean your wounds. It was pretty bad. You were considering going to a hospital, but didn’t want to risk it. Your next of kin was Dean…

Instead, you cleaned yourself up as best as you could. It was the gash on your leg that was the worst. One of the vamps had stabbed you with your own knife. Your shoulder had dislocated as well, but you’d managed to- painfully- pop it back into place. There were cuts and bruises all over, but they were easily fixed.

Once you were finished, you limped over to the bed to grab the bag you’d dumped there earlier. Inside was some beef jerky, a bottle of whiskey, pain killers and a charger that would fit your phone.

Plugging the charger in, you set your phone on the night stand as you picked at the jerky, needing something in your stomach. Pulling the sheets back and sliding in, you sipped at the glass of water you’d left on the nightstand so you could take enough of the pain killers to knock you out. When you fell asleep, you the grateful to find yourself too exhausted to dream.

**Day 6**

Sulking in your room, nursing your wounds and the bottle of whiskey you’d bought yesterday, you sat at the table staring at your phone.

It had charged all night. You’d left it off, and let it do its thing. But now it was done, ready to go. All it would take was one simple push of a button. You could turn it on and see exactly who has tried contacting you, and what they’ve said. You would finally be able to see how pissed everyone has been. You’d finally get confirmation that you were no longer wanted.

But you just couldn’t do it.

If you turned the phone on and got as much hate as you were expecting, you weren’t sure if you could handle it. In this life you don’t have a lot of friends, and the ones you do have you stick with. They’re more like family. So if they were as mad as you expected, you were going to take it horribly.

Then there was the chance that it wouldn’t be as bad as you expected. They might not be as angry. They might be more worried than anything. If that’s the case, if they’re concerned and asking where you are, telling you to come home… you weren’t sure you wouldn’t give in and go back.

For hours, you just sat there, staring at the black, blank screen. You pictured a million different messages, guessed how many missed calls you had. You wondered who might have contacted you. Who had Dean and Sam contacted?

Jody, no doubt. Not just because you looked to her like a mother, but also because she had contacts that came with her job. If you hadn’t gone to her for help, then they could still use her to find you other ways.

Donna, too. If they got both women looking, there was a bigger chance a cop somewhere would spot either you or the car. Plus, Dean knew she would be the second person you’d turn to.

Next is Garth. He was every hunter’s go-to man. When you’d run off the other day you knew you could have called him for help…but you also knew he wouldn’t take sides. If Sam and Dean asked, Garth would tell them just enough to help them out, but not so much to give you away.

Claire was an option. She hunted by herself these days, and the brothers knew the two of you were close friends. If either of you needed a hand, you could trust the other. But Claire was too close to Jody, so you’d kept your distance.

There were others, of course. You knew a lot of hunters. There was bound to be at least a dozen messages from them, asking where you are just so they could relay the information back to Dean.

The longer you thought about it, the more curious you got. Your fingers itched, wanting to press that one button and see who exactly had contacted you. You wanted to see the names pop up on the screen. You wanted to know who cared about you, and who cared about Dean.

In the end, you gave in.

Maybe it was all this time alone? Maybe it was the lack of fighting going on? Maybe it was all the guilt you felt? Maybe it was the fact you’d drunk too much? Maybe you were just tired? Whatever it was, your stubbornness seemed to be dimming…

Sitting there, you watched as the screen lit up, the phone turning on. It was just a matter of waiting after that.

Twenty-four seconds later and your phone was going crazy. It vibrated against the table so much, it nearly fell off the side. It buzzed so loudly, it sounded like a swarm of bees lived inside it. There were so many messages, you weren’t sure if you could get through them all in one day…

The first few were just from Dean. He’d been pissed- understandably. More hurtful things had been sent through, but nothing stood out more than the fact he wanted you to bring his car back. That’s what really had him fuming.

After a couple of hours Sam joined the messaging. He was more concerned than anything. There were a few warnings about the car, but that was mainly because he was worried about the aftermath of your actions. Mostly, he just wanted you to come home.

Just as you’d predicted, Jody, Donna and Garth had messaged you as well. They wanted you to tell them where you were, to go home, to go to them, to call someone. They just wanted to know you were okay.

Claire had messaged, too. But she was different. She’d offered to join you. She’d offered to let you hunt with her for as long as you needed. For someone who put on a tough exterior, she’d really stepped up and tried to be the best friend you might need.

There were a few messages from Cas, but they weren’t detailed enough for you to know if he was genuinely worried, or just doing something because he felt like it was the right thing to do. He was friend of yours… but he was also a friend of Dean’s.

By the time you got to the last few messages, you found they had become less frequent… except for Dean’s.

He’d messaged you almost every hour of every day. There was a mixture of anger and concern- which wasn’t just about his car anymore. One second he would be yelling into the phone, demanding you come home and stop being so stupid. The next second he’d be apologising left, right and centre. He’d be pissed, and then guilty. He’d tell you it was over, and then he’d beg you to forgive him.

It seemed he’d been going through the same emotional troubles as you had.

You skipped the majority of texts, opting to listen to your voicemail instead- there was less of them. You listened to the messages for the rest of the day. Hearing and seeing all the messages told you what you needed to know. You were missed, and people cared about you. But you weren’t sure if that was enough to go home. You weren’t sure if Dean meant it when he wanted you back, or if he meant it when he said he was sick of it all.

**Day 7**

You were going stir crazy in the motel room. Sure, you needed to heal, and it’s not like you had anywhere else to go, but with no company to distract you, you were going insane.

So, after a careful but long shower, you decided to head to the local diner to grab some breakfast. You would get enough social interaction for the day to keep you sane, offer more food than the pizza you’d had delivered yesterday, and let you stretch your legs a little more.

A quick job. Just make an order, take the food and head back to the motel.

It all went just as successfully as you’d hoped. Your leg was in a lot of pain, but you were thankful for the movement and small chat you had with the diner waitress. It seemed like today was actually going to be an enjoyable one. That was until you got back to your motel room.

There was no sign of any difference. You were complete and totally oblivious to what you were about to be faced with.

Sliding out of Baby, the bag of food tucked securely to your chest, you hobbled over to your room. Using your free hand, you fished your keys out of the pocket of your jeans and slid them into your room’s door. Opening it, you stepped inside and closed the door behind you, still in your own little oblivious world. When you turned around you froze and came crashing back to Earth.

He was sitting on the bed, elbows resting on his thighs, hands clasped together. He’d been waiting. You had no idea how long. Now that you were here, he stood, slowly and carefully so as not to scare you. His eyes were soft… and hurt. He’d been worried, you already knew that. But you hadn’t realised he’d been hurting, too. At least not as much as you could see now.

Time passed. You had no idea if it was minutes or seconds. Neither of you spoke, your stubbornness rooting itself back in place. It seemed he’d gained some control during your time apart, because instead of breaking first, he just waited.

Knowing it was the right thing to do, you offered a reprieve, speaking up to break through the deafening silence that had settled in the room.

“How’d you find me?”

“GPS,” he answered simply. “You turned your phone on yesterday.”

Nodding, you took the couple of steps to your left and placed your food down… along with the keys to the Impala. “Well, there you go. She’d got a full gas. I gave her a wash, too,” you told him, refusing to look his way. “She’s all yours. You can go now.”

He stayed standing there, watching you without a word.

The silence settled again, stretching, screaming, begging either of you to respond. It was the elephant in the room. Silence between you and Dean was rare, you usually fought, loudly, not letting more than a few seconds pass before you were yelling at the top of your lungs. Silence was worse. It spoke a million more words than any scream.

Trying it ignore the silence, you grabbed your coffee and started for the couch, wanting to put your leg up and enjoy your drink. You’d hoped Dean would grab the keys once you were away from them, and take his leave. But your plans never did run as smoothly as you like.

You took three steps before Dean noticed something was wrong.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him.

He ignored you, heading your way. When you tried to shoo him back it did nothing to deter his actions. If Dean was on a mission, nothing much could stop him.

Prying your coffee from your grasp, he reached over and placed it back on the table. With his and your hands free, he wasted no time in lifting you into his arms. You didn’t bother arguing, just offered a roll of your eyes- hoping he couldn’t feel your heart hammering inside you. Gently, he set you on the bed, before he got to work, looking you over.

There were no insecurities when it came to him looking you over. Long before you’d started dating, both Dean and you had patched up more wounds than you could count. You’d both seen every inch of each other’s bodies before you’d even shared a kiss.

Once he was sure the rest of you was okay, he silently asked you if he could check your legs. His eyes locked onto yours, the words written in the green you loved so much. All you had to do was give a short nod before he started to carefully pry your jeans from your body.

When he unwrapped the bandage on your leg, you could sense his concern. His fingers ghosted over the skin around the wound. His eyes took it all in to assess the damage. His jaw clicked in that way it did whenever he got protective over you. His shoulders tensed as he realised how bad it was.

“This is bad. Why didn’t you call for help? You could have died.”

There it was. A slap to the face. A reminder of everything he’d said to you.

“I’m reckless, remember? It’s what I do,” you responded coldly.

Shaking his head, he got up and moved to grab fresh bandages out of the bathroom. “Don’t do this now. I don’t want to fight.”

You just couldn’t help yourself. “Why? Because you’re sick of me?”

Coming back to the bed, he crouched down in front of you, his eyes on your wound as he got to work. “Do you really think I would have spent the last week going out of my mind if I was sick of you?”

“Habits are hard to break.”

“You’re not a habit,” he argued, wrapping up your leg.

“No. But I’m annoying. I don’t think. I’m stupid. I don’t care. I’m a liability. I make you want to tear your hair out.”

“Yeah, you do make me want to tear my hair out. You piss me off. You get on my nerves.” He nodded, still looking down at your leg as he continued to dress it carefully so as not to hurt you anymore than you already were. “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re the only person I trust enough to be myself with. We fight like we’re gonna kill each other. But I always thought once we calmed down, you’d still be there.”

Finished with your leg, he stood and started to clean up. Putting everything away, throwing the old bandages in the bin. He moved along, keeping busy, while neither of you spoke. Silence found its way back in the room.

You weren’t sure if this was him giving you a chance to argue, or respond at all. If it was, you weren’t sure you could speak. You were trying to process what he was saying, what he meant.

When you stayed silent and he finished cleaning up, he came back to crouch on the ground, his eyes on your leg. He stared at the clean bandages as if he could see the wound underneath, all his concern conveyed in his eyes.

“I was so pissed you left. I’m not gonna lie, first it was because you took Baby. But the next morning, when I woke up and you weren’t there, I knew this time was different. I knew you weren’t coming back. And I couldn’t live with that. What I said to you.” He shook his head. “I hated myself.” Looking up, he held your gaze as he went on, “I didn’t mean it.”

“Then why did you say it?” Your voice was so soft, so quiet.

“Because I was scared. The thought of losing you scares the shit out of me. I wasn’t thinking. I just said what I hoped would get you to stop putting yourself in danger.”

“We’re hunters. We were on a job and I saw an opening. This is what we do.”

“I know,” he said, surprising you. “But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I worry about you.”

“You don’t have to. I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly.” He gestured to your leg, giving you a slight grin to try an ease the tension that was still thick in the air. When you cracked a small smile of your own, he relaxed a little more. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Does that mean you’re coming home?”

“How do we know this isn’t going to happen all over again?”

“We don’t. But I love you too much to give up on us. I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not gonna change overnight.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

Looking into his eyes, seeing nothing but hope, honestly and love in them, you knew this time things were going to be different. You didn’t know how you knew, you just did.

During the time you’d been apart you’d both learnt a lot, you’d grown up, there was an appreciation and understanding there that you both had taken advantage of in the past. Thinking you’d lost each other was exactly what you both needed. You’d learnt to be less stubborn, he’d learnt how to control his temper. More importantly, you both realised you were truly loved.

“Okay.” Slowly, you nodded. “Let’s go home.”

A wide smile spread across his face before he was leaning forward, his lips crashing onto yours in a thankful kiss full of love and relief. Falling back onto the bed, his hands finding yours, fingers intertwining, you both melted into each other.

Having spent a week questioning the last few years of your life, your relationship with Dean, and every detail in between, you found all the answers in his kiss. Nothing made more sense than Dean. No one in your life sparked a fire in you like he did. No one had ever cared about you this much. No one understood you like he did. No one could love you so deeply.

All it took were seven days of hell for you to figure it out…

**Bamby**


End file.
